


Steadier Footing

by Yvearia



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Collage, Domestic Violence, Eventual Sequel, Eventual Sex, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Real Events, Light Angst, Young Spencer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 05:57:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15018143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yvearia/pseuds/Yvearia
Summary: Before Spencer Reid joins the BAU, he meets someone who will influence his future, leading him down the path of bringing prolific and violent criminals to justice.  Cross-posted from ff.net circa 2011.





	1. Grey Saturday

He was sitting inside Etch, as close as he could get to the front window. It wasn't really that hard to find a seat there on a weekend night like this one. Most of the patrons were finding dark corners at college bars, and the few that chose Etch on a night like tonight were either the really diehard students with their books, or the socially indifferent couples to whom it didn't matter where they were as long as they were left to study each other – in detail. Those couples sought out the dark corners of Etch rather than the bars, but for the same reasons. In any case, a seat by the window was a welcome break from the social awkwardness that would be posed upon him anywhere else tonight.

He occupied a table near the entrance, hidden behind piles of nearly a dozen books, which, for once, he wasn't reading. There were the awkward, large earmuff headphones of his childhood sitting atop his head, the cord trailing down to his lap where the disc man sat. He closed his eyes and leaned his head to his right to rest against the windowpane. Spencer sat cross-legged in the chair, trying not to think about spending another birthday away from Diana. He had written her letter and posted it promptly on his way to the coffee shop this afternoon. His mother only lived 257 miles from the campus, but he felt safer at school – closed away from the reality of what was happening to her – and he hadn't been to visit her since his eighteenth birthday. He reached down to the CD player and reset the track, listening deeply to the Icelandic minimalist melodies.

Just then, a cold hand, placed on his arm, startled him out of his reverie. He snapped open his eyes and pushed the headphones back around his neck.

"Hi?" The last thing he expected to see was the young woman standing in front of him.

"Can I sit here?" She was wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt, and was gripping the back of the chair across from him nervously.

He narrowed his eyes skeptically and glanced around the coffee shop trying to decipher who had put her up to this. No one looked particularly interested in the two of them, in fact, he was sure he had been invisible until the moment she walked up to him. "Um, sit. Please."

"You don't remember me?" she smiled as she sat solidly in her chair.

"I'm pretty sure we've never met." And he was. Certain.

"Didn't we have a lab together last semester?"

"No."

"Never forget a face?"

"No, I don't actually." He let a smile just touch the corners of his lips for a moment.

"You have a nice smile."

He wasn't used to girls being so forward with him. He took another moment to recall his first glimpse of her. She was slender and average height with dark blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail that just brushed her shoulders, her bangs falling in front of her glasses. She wore large, brown frames that made her face appear smaller and more angular than it actually was. Her shirt was a dingy white and her jeans were well worn in. She had three, small silver studs lining the edge of her left earlobe, and two lining her right. She was right handed, wearing a leather banded watch on her left wrist. All this he had catalogued in less than three seconds. He watched her grey eyes as she was obviously still studying him.

He had thrown on an old t-shirt this morning along with a pair of grey corduroys and his old, worn in chucks. His hair was probably dirty and it hung uneven just past his chin. She was beginning to read the faded, hand painted letters on his shirt. It used to say 'the no. 2 pencil is mightier than the sword', but some of the letters were missing.

"Who were you running from?" he asked. It seemed to startle her enough to break her gaze away from his awful t-shirt.

"I wasn't running from anyone." She looked confused.

"It's usually still warm in Pasadena at the beginning of October, and it's unusually warm today – almost ninety degrees. You're perspiring, but it's probably a cool sweat because all of the blood has left your face and extremities – part of the body's fight or flight response. Your hand was freezing when you touched me, and you look nervous."

Her mouth opened into a slight 'oh' of surprise. "It's nothing. Just an argument with a friend. I just… really don't want to talk to him right now, and I know he'll leave me alone if I'm…"

"Sitting with another guy," Spencer finished her thought for her as he glanced out the window at the man pacing the parking lot.

"Yeah. He just needs some time to cool off."

Spencer watched as the man finally turned and walked over to a mid-nineties model, green sedan. "I feel so used," he muttered under his breath, jokingly, trying to shake off the sense of foreboding that was nagging at him.

"Sorry," she slumped in her chair.

He looked back at her and tried to soften his voice. "Don't be. I was only trying to make a joke."

"So what did you have planned for tonight?

"Why"

….

They sat in a dimly lit booth at the back of the Spanish restaurant, near the bar area and, consequently, the smoking section. She had insisted on making it up to him, having 'used' him; but he knew she secretly wasn't comfortable being alone again just yet.

"I'll go on one condition," he'd said. "What's your name?" Now they were sharing a large order of mixed Paella. Spencer was picking out the chicken and leaving the prawns and mussels for Stella.

"I really hope I didn't monopolize your evening," she said between mouthfuls of saffron rice. "I just felt bad and… yeah, it was a stupid thing to do. I should have just told him to screw off for the night, huh?"

"It's fine. I usually don't have plans today."

"On Saturdays?"

"On my birthday," he muttered and took a gulp of coke from the glass bottle in front of him.

"It's your birthday? We have to celebrate," she half stood before he reached across the table, pulling her back down.

"Please don't make them sing."

"I won't," she said sincerely. "But I am going to do something for you. You can't stop me."

"You bought me Paella."

"You like chocolate?" He nodded. "You like coffee? – Yeah, you like coffee." He smiled as she answered her own question. She had seen the mountain of empty paper coffee cups in the back seat of his Volvo. "How 'bout some chocolate espresso brownies, home made?"

"I could handle that, I suppose." He found himself excited by the prospect. He hadn't had a real birthday celebration since his mid adolescence – Dianna had begun deteriorating faster by then.

She instructed him to drop her by the market, it would only take a minute to pick up what she needed, and she would meet him in the parking lot when she was done. He sat in his car as the last light of the evening bled into the night sky. The temperature was dropping to the lower sixties and he kicked the heat up slightly so Stella would be comfortable for the rest of the ride. She was rubbing her hands together as she climbed back into the passenger seat.

"Where to?" Spencer asked.

"Your place," she smiled weakly as she sorted through her two bags to make sure she had gotten everything.

"…Okay," he shook his head and took off in the direction of his apartment building.

"You don't live on campus?"

"No. I had an unusual arrangement with campus housing… Ah, do you?" He stammered. All freshmen were required to reside on campus, and though he was hardly young enough to be a freshman (even though he looked younger than he was), he had been far too young to live on campus when he was a freshman. "Live on campus, I mean… do you?"

"No, I have an apartment with my, my room mate. Anyway, I don't go to CalTech."

He picked up on the verbal stall. He was trying not to read much into her behavior, but it was difficult. He had always enjoyed his time studying sociology and kept reverting to his old habits from studying for the degree. "Well, my place is sort of… I live alone and I, ah, don't often have… company." He squeezed his eyes shut hard and clenched his jaw to keep from stumbling over his words even more.

"It's a guy's apartment. Say no more."

He opened his eyes again as the car behind him began honking, signaling that his light was green. A few minutes later they pulled into the small parking area of his complex. There were four two-story buildings, surrounding a small courtyard. Each building held two units – one upstairs, and one down. Spencer guided Stella across the dying grass to the far left, downstairs unit.

He took a deep breath as he quickly keyed his way into the small apartment. The front door opened onto a one-room efficiency. It held several low-end shelving units, all of which were filled to the brim with books. There were books stacked on the floor along the walls and in front of the shelves as well. There was a rolling component stand backed into a corner that held an early nineties model tube television set, an SNES and a Nintendo 64. There was a roll top desk along one wall with an ancient IBM computer and a new HP printer, which had been a necessity for school. The oak and black fabric futon bed doubled as his couch, even though it was almost always in the bed position.

"Cool," Stella pronounced as she scanned the room. "Kitchen?" He directed her through one of two doors at the back of the room; the other led into the tiny bathroom. She took her bags through the door and he began to gather up trash and clothing, depositing both on his closet floor.

"Just, make yourself at home. I unfortunately don't have much to cook with. I pretty much live on coffee and take-out." He shook his head at the sound of his words.

"I have it taken care of."

Ten minutes later they were sitting on the futon, coffee mugs in hand, waiting on the brownies to finish baking. She had bought a foil pan and a cheap plastic mixing bowl at the market. They had spoken about the weather, and Spencer's lack of culinary skills, before finally falling back on the topic of school.

"I'm taking the semester off." Her face fell a little when she said it. "I had just gotten this momentum going and it was like I was running head first toward a brick wall. I really enjoy what I was doing, I just needed a chance to breath, you know?"

"Not really," he said with the sincerest look possible.

"Well, Photography and Imaging at Pasadena Art Center. It doesn't sound all that competitive, but it really is. I was really more self-taught anyway. I actually enjoy the more intuitive shots I've been getting in the past couple of months. I usually take my camera with me everywhere."

"You certainly sound passionate about it."

"Yeah? What about you, Mr. Reid?" She smiled behind the lip of her mug as she took another sip of her cinnamon tea. "What are you passionate about, academically speaking?"

He could feel his ears turning red. He hated answering that kind of question. "I'm finishing a… degree in chemistry." The inflection of his voice made it sound more like a question.

"Nice. You planning on taking that on to graduate school?"

"Yeah, it's actually a doctoral degree…" He took a big gulp of his tea.

"Wow – you don't look that old. I could have sworn we were the same age."

"I'm twenty."

She stared at him, wide eyed, just as the oven timer began buzzing. He watched her jump up from her seat and take off for the kitchen. He was definitely not going to mention another thing about his academic history. She walked back into the room, holding the pan of brownies with a dingy dishtowel and dropped it on the bed between them. "Two forks," she announced, and handed him one. "So, when did you graduate high school? Fourteen?"

"No," he said gruffly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean… Um, so what did you major in?"

"Psychology and Sociology."

After agreeing to a truce to not talk about academics, they settled back into their brownies and tea, and Spencer tried to lighten the mood with some Episode I defaming humor. His mother called around eleven o'clock worried that she hadn't heard from him yet. He didn't want to get into this discussion in front of Stella. He had spoken to her this morning over breakfast. Every year on his birthday and hers they had their breakfast phone call. And every year she would forget and become agitated as the evening wore on.

Stella could tell he was uncomfortable and she excused herself to clean up her mess in the kitchen. He was exceptionally grateful for that, and hopefully he wouldn't have to explain why.

"How is everything, Mom?"

"I'm not well, Spencer. They told me you called today but they're lying to me. They don't want me to talk to my baby boy on his birthday."

"We're talking now, Mom." Spencer shuddered. It was always unsettling talking to her on her bad days.

"How was the party? Oh I'm so sorry I couldn't be there, darling. I had papers to grade. Did any of your friends make it?"

She was talking about his seventh birthday. His father had tried to get a few neighborhood kids to come over for cake and ice cream, but it had been an exercise in futility. Diana had spent the entire day in her room, forgetting the party all together in favor of grading her non-existent papers.

"Mom, do you know how old I am?"

"Don't try to trick me, Spencer - they try to trick me."

"I'm twenty today," he said with a sad, exhausted sigh.

"I know that! Don't play games with me. I'm your mother... I was twenty-eight... Did you have a nice party, Spencer?"

Her tone softened abruptly and he didn't want to lose any of the quality time he might have to speak with her tonight, so he indulged her.

"Yes. A new friend took me to dinner and then I had birthday brownies," he glanced toward the kitchen as he spoke, realizing that it was suddenly too quiet in the apartment.

"That's fine then. I sent you a book of poetry. I have to go now, Spencer. The nurse is cataloguing my every word. I love you very much, my grown up young man!"

"Goodnight, Mom. Much love."

He flipped the phone closed and stood up quietly, making his way toward the kitchen. Stella was sitting on the floor, leaning against the cabinet with her head in her hand.

"Thank you for the privacy," he said softly as he leaned against the doorframe, looking down on her. She startled slightly and he began to think he might not have to explain the strange phone conversation he had just had – she seemed to have been in her own world.

"No. No problem. I've been intruding on your life all evening."

"Not intruding. I could tell you to leave if I didn't want you here." He seemed offended at the idea that he had no control over her presence in his home. He was an adult and he could choose whom he did and did not allow in his personal space. Couldn't he?

"Well, I know it's almost midnight," she sighed. "Pumpkin time." He smiled at the reference to Charles Perrault's version of Cinderella in which he introduced the pumpkin in 1697. "So I'll just be going then."

"I'll drive you." He quickly began searching the room for his keys. He was pretty sure he'd discarded them somewhere near the front door.

"No. That's too much trouble, really. I can make it on my own."

"Walk? I don't think that's a great idea." He eyed her skeptically. "Where is your place, anyway?"

"I don't think it's a great idea to let some guy I just met know where I live." She was agitated.

"But it is a good idea to go to that guy's apartment with him, alone?"

"I can take care of myself... " she mumbled, looking unsure of her own words. "I'll take a bus."

"At least let me drive you to he bus stop."

She glared at him.

"Please," he asked quietly, still unsure whether she would say yes.

"C'mon then." She walked past him and headed for the door.

They drove to the buss stop in silence, where Spencer insisted on waiting for the buss with her. The night was chilly and he had left his sweater on the futon at his apartment, he tried not to let on that he was cold. Stella wasn't shivering at all. In fact, she sat rigid next to him, hardly breathing at all. She turned her head and caught him looking at her.

"So, if I wanted to hang out again, how would I get in touch with you?"

"You would want to 'hang out' again?" He used air quotes.

"What's your number?"

Without thinking he rattled off a series of numbers, which he had to run through in his head after the fact to make sure he hadn't given her his childhood phone number. She fished around in her purse for a pen and an old bank receipt, and quickly wrote it down before she could forget it.

Spencer saw her bus moving up the street toward them. He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets waiting for her to gather her things and board the bus. She grabbed his hand and scrawled her number down on his palm, and he glanced down to read it as she released him from her grip.

"Who's 'Lou'?" He shouted as she climbed the steps into the vehicle.

"That's me!" she shouted back.


	2. Time, Time Ticking Away

"I. Hate. Christmas."

They were walking along the street in front of Etch, headed to the local magic shop. It was the first week in December and Spencer had found himself meeting for coffee or dinner at least once a week with Lou since their first encounter almost two months ago.

"How could you possibly…? Are you really telling me that you _hate_ the spirit of this season?" His cheeks were flushed and he found himself looking forward to the outing. He was excited to show her his favorite magic shop, and it hadn't taken much convincing on his part.

"Yes. I hate the spirit of the commercialism of Christmas – the shopping and the chaos. It's overrated, Spencer, I swear to you."

"The weather is cool, the town is bright. Everyone is happy," he argued lightly.

"Not everyone."

"What?" he asked softly.

"Nothing. Stop for a coffee?"

He smiled broadly and let that be his answer. They made a u-turn and headed into Etch. She grabbed a table near the back of the dining area – Spencer only ever sat at the window anymore if he was by himself – and he placed their order at the counter.

"A chai tea latte for Lou," he said as he placed her drink on the coffee table in front of their couch.

"And a large coffee and… five sugars… for Dr. Reid?"

"Please don't. It makes people treat me differently."

"Like it's so bad being treated like a smart guy," she took the spoon out of her mug and began blowing on the hot tea to cool it.

"Try being treated like a freak."

"I don't treat you like a freak," she frowned.

"You and my mom are my only fans," he smiled weakly.

"Just your biggest." As she grinned at him her cell phone began buzzing on the table. She pressed a button and the vibration stopped. "So what are you going to buy at the magic shop?" Before he had a chance to answer her, her phone began to dance against the tabletop again.

"Is that your roommate?"

She stared at the phone as it rattled quietly. "Yeah."

"Looks like it might be important?"

"It's not." Lou leaned back in her seat and took a sip of her warm drink. They sat together at the table, drinking their drinks in silence as the buzzing phone continued its dance. A few times it chimed notifying her of a new message. Every time she eyed it as though it were a bomb about to explode or a snake about to bite.

"I don't usually buy anything at the magic shop," Spencer began trying to take her mind off of the small attacker on the table in front of her.

"No?"

"Yeah. I usually just study what's there and see how well I can recreate it on my own. It's entertaining."

"Oh."

"Do you want to do something else?" He was determined to pull her from whatever black hole she had fallen into.

"I told you I would go to the magic shop with you." She sounded determined to keep her word.

"We can go another day." He knew just how to lift her spirits. He opened his mouth to speak just as the phone went off for about the fifteenth time. "There's a double feature at the Pacific Vineland Drive-in. 'Presumed Innocent' and 'The Fugitive'." He congratulated himself as he saw the smile begin to pull at the corners of her mouth.

"How can I say no to Harrison Ford?"

They finished their drinks and walked back down the street to Spencer's car. Since it had been a spur of the moment decision to go to the drive-in, they arrived at the end of the first movie – 'Presumed Innocent' – and sat in the car with the sound off.

"I always liked 'The Fugitive' better anyway," Lou said, taking her coat off and spreading it over her lap like a blanket.

"I've never seen it."

"Never?"

"No. I'm slightly familiar with the television show the movie was based on, though I know more about the actual murder trial and acquittal than either of the fictional works."

"Go on," Lou encouraged as she reached into her purse for her bag of Jolly Ranchers.

"Samuel Shepherd – the man the character of Richard Kimble is based upon – was a young Neurosurgeon in Bay Village, Ohio at the time of the original trial in 1954. He was married to Marilyn, who was pregnant with their second child, and they had a seven year old at the time – Sam Reese Shepherd. On July 4, 1954, Marilyn Sheppard was found beaten to death in her bedroom. According to Dr. Shepherd he had been asleep downstairs on the couch. There is some speculation as to a fight that occurred the previous night between them that necessitated the separate sleeping arrangements. Sam said he was awoken by Marilyn's cries, and he immediately ran upstairs to their bedroom where he saw what he described as a form attacking his wife. Sam said he was knocked unconscious and, upon waking, chased the intruder out the back door of his house. He was supposedly knocked unconscious a second time and woke up lying on the beach behind the house. Marilyn was already dead inside." Spencer stopped for breath and glanced across the seat at his companion, gauging her interest.

"I'm listening," she said around a mouthful of hard candy.

"Several things were suspicious about the incident, such as the fact that Sam Jr. had been in the house the entire time and had heard nothing. The house had been ransacked, but nothing of value had been taken, and finally – not a good thing for Dr. Shepherd – it was discovered that he had been having a long term affair with one of his nurses, and this was suggested to be the motive for the murder. Although for as many things that didn't seem to fit with Sam's innocence, just as much was unlikely in the event of his guilt. He had no defensive wounds and it was clear that Marilyn had fought back. Also, later forensic testing concluded the blood evidence had been tainted and blood spatter was inconsistent with the prosecution's case. Ultimately, after spending almost ten years in prison he was granted a new trial, and on November 16, 1966, was acquitted of all charges in relation to Marilyn's murder."

"How do you remember all of that?"

"What do you mean?" Spencer looked confused. He reached to take a sip of his Coke as Lou looked at him in disbelief. "It's simply a matter of processing, cataloguing and accessing information in a more efficient way than most people are accustomed to."

"Boy, would I like to spend a few hours exploring in there!"

"Huh?"

"Your head. It must be a very interesting place to live." She turned to face the screen before he had a chance to say anything in response. "Sound, sound! It's starting and I don't want you to miss this!"

It was nearly an hour into the film before Spencer realized Lou was sleeping. She was leaning her head against the passenger window and she had her feet curled up underneath her. He reached across the seat and spread his coat over her shoulders and her breathing deepened as she relaxed into his residual body heat. He chanced a glance at her every few minutes to see if she was waking up, but she looked dead to the world, so he placed the speaker on its stand outside the car window and pulled out of their parking place.

On the ride back to his apartment he left the radio silent – not that she would have woken – and thought through the same questions he had been asking himself over and over the last two months. What was her reason for using two names – Stella and Lou? Where did she live and why hadn't he ever been to her apartment? Who was the mysterious roommate? Where did she work and why did she hardly ever have any money? If she was living on an allowance, he could understand being broke. But she never mentioned any family who might be providing her with money. If she was living on financial aide, it couldn't last long, since she was no longer a student. He glared at her cellular as it lit up and vibrated in her bag on the passenger floor. At the next light he reached down and extracted it. The caller ID said 'Josh'. He felt a little creepy for looking at her phone while she slept, but she was obviously upset with someone, and he had a pretty good feeling that someone was Josh.

They arrived at his apartment around eleven o'clock. He didn't know where else to take her and he couldn't bring himself to wake her up, justifying it in his mind that she was obviously tired and needed the sleep. But now that they were in the parking lot he didn't know what to do with her. He'd gladly let her sleep on his bed, and he would take the floor, if he thought he could actually transport her from the car into his house. Instead, he sat there for a few moments, before deciding to check the call history on her phone. Previous to tonight, the history had been erased. Although every single call – all 48 of them – she had received tonight was from Josh. He didn't need to save the number to his phone – one look was all it would take to remember it.

As he placed her cellular back into her purse, she began to stir. "It's cold," she mumbled into his coat, sounding something like, 'iffs culled'.

"Come on. Lets get inside." He picked up her bag and hurried around to the passenger door. Lou handed him his coat as she shrugged into hers, but he threw it around her shoulders as soon as she stood up, and they trudged the few feet to the apartment together.

She settled on the futon with a yawn before asking, "What time is it?"

"Eleven eighteen."

"God, I've gotta get out of here. Why didn't you just take me to the bus stop?"

"And let you wait out in the cold? It's late. Let me drive you home." He knew what her answer would be.

"No, I don't want to wake anyone."

"Then I guess you can't call someone for a ride?"

She looked startled at the question, before righting herself and agreeing that wouldn't be a good idea.

"Well, if your roommate is asleep then she's obviously not too worried. You could just take the futon for tonight and get the bus in the morning. Text to let her know you're ok." He hated indirect communication, and never used it, so this was his first pitiful attempt.

"I should really go."

"Who is Josh?"

"A guy I know. How do you know that name?" She was crossing both her arms and her legs, closing herself off – protective body language.

"He called a couple times while you were asleep." He saw the fear flash in her eyes momentarily. "Could he come pick you up – take you to your apartment?"

"No. We, umm… I'll just spend the night. You're right, it makes more sense."

He lent her his flannel pajama pants and waited while she took the first shower. He'd have a cold shower, but it wouldn't be the first time. They traded places with little conversation, and he found her curled into a tight ball on the futon, facing the wall when he emerged from the bathroom. He could tell from her breathing that she wasn't asleep, though she made no attempt at communication, so he let her be.

He sat down in his desk chair with a book, trying to take his mind off of the strange, precarious situation he found himself in. He stayed up most of the night, beginning with the _Canterbury Tales_ and finally fell asleep after re-reading _The Chronicles of Narnia_ and half of C.S. Lewis' _Space Trilogy_. When he woke up at nearly noon the next morning, Lou was gone. She left a note tucked into the back pages of _That Hideous Strength._

_Don't make a habit of sleeping in this chair. I'll call you soon._

_-Lou_

….

Christmas came. And Christmas passed.

Happy New Year?

February.

March.

April.

Spencer sat near the window at Etch, working on the bibliography for his thesis. He hadn't heard from Lou in almost five months. Sometimes he sat near the back of the coffee shop and watched the customers, wondering if she ever came here anymore. He hadn't thought much about her since he stopped calling her last month. He had other things that took priority. One was his mom. The other was his thesis – still finished early, but he realized he hadn't given it the attention it deserved since he met Lou. He chewed on his pen cap, distracted once again. His mom hadn't called him yesterday and he had been too preoccupied to let it bother him. Now he was starting to get nervous.

His phone began buzzing on the corner of the table and he grabbed it in an instant, expecting bad news from the facility in Las Vegas.

"Hello?" he answered, not even bothering to check the number calling him.

"Hey."

He was silent for moments, dragging on until the caller had to speak again to make sure she'd been heard.

"Spencer, are you there?"

"Uh, Lou?" He unconsciously straightened his seat in the café chair.

"Yeah, I know. It's been a while, huh?"

"Yes." He was afraid of speaking more than one word at a time. He didn't know if he was angry or worried, or whether he had a right to be either.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor. I hate to ask after so long – makes me look really selfish. I just don't know who else to call."

"What is it, Lou?" Now he felt he had a right to be at least a little angry.

"Can you come pick me up?"

"Where are you?" He began shoving his notebook and papers back into his bag, and searching the mess in front of him for his keys.

"I'm at Huntington Memorial."

"What? Are you okay?" He shoved the rest of his things into his bag and headed for his car. Huntington Memorial Hospital was only a few minutes away.

"Yeah, I'm fine. My ride just cancelled. Call me when you get here and I'll meet you in the lobby."

Spencer found a parking spot near the General Admitting lobby door and hurried inside, calling Lou's cell phone on his way in.

"They won't let me leave without giving my discharge instructions to someone else. Could you come up to the second floor? Just tell the nurse at the front desk my name."

"Ok."

The three-minute elevator ride was already tense – she still hadn't told him why she was here and his mind was reeling with possibilities – but when he exited the elevator car to the Surgery Center, his stomach dropped. The nurse led him back to the recovery room, where Lou was already dressed and waiting to be released into his care.

"This is Mr. Reid," the first nurse introduced him to the discharge nurse waiting with Lou.

"The procedure went well, as planned. There are four sutures – it was a relatively small incision. She should keep those dry for the next five to seven days – basically until removal. There's also glue, which will dissolve in a few weeks. Remember to keep weight off of it for the next four weeks when you have your follow-up visit then we'll see what Dr. Nicks says. Other than that, everything should be fine. If you have any heat or swelling around the incision give us a call right away. I'll go grab a wheelchair and we'll get you out of here!"

"Thank you," Lou smiled at the woman.

"Yes, thanks," he echoed, staring at the bandage around Lou's left forearm. "What… what happened?" he asked once the nurse left them alone.

"It was just a pin removal. I broke my arm a few months back and they had to put in a pin. I was in an air cast for a while, but I haven't been able to lift my camera for months." She hopped down out of the bed. "I can't wait to get the O.K. to take some pictures again."

"I hope you know, I'm not leaving you at the bus stop." That was all Spencer could manage to say without inundating her with questions. Answers would come in their own time – he hoped.

"'Course not. You finally get to see my apartment," she smiled teasingly.

They pulled up to the small townhouse thirty minutes later. They were in the suburbs, in a fairly nice neighborhood. Spencer could tell from the architecture the apartment was two stories, but still on the small side. He was right. The living and kitchen area were downstairs and there was a bedroom and bathroom up a very narrow flight of stairs just off the front door.

There were few furnishings other than a television, couch and coffee table on the first floor. But every solid surface had rolls of film or stacks of prints, some framed, some not. There were photo collages on two of the living room walls, and a beautiful set of framed landscapes leading up the stairs.

"What do you think? It's a wreck right now, so don't judge harshly."

Aside from the photography paraphernalia, the house was spotless. There were no dusty corners, there were blankets folded over the arm of the couch; the kitchen counters held a coffee maker and a canister of coffee, though no dishes littered its surface. The sink looked recently wiped down. There was light streaming through the spotless windowpanes. Everything looked clean and cheery.

"It's amazing," he squeaked in disbelief – more due to her doubting the state of the apartment, than the fact that it was so well maintained.

"Thanks."

"Where's your roommate?" he asked cautiously. She immediately turned her back to him and began making coffee.

"Josh is working," she answered finally. Spencer walked into the kitchen and gently placed his hand on her bandaged arm.

"How did this happen?" he asked.

Just then they heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. "If you really knew Stella, you'd know how clumsy she is." The voice was confident and dark, but you could hear the smile in it.

Spencer turned around to face Josh. He was slightly shorter than Spencer, but with a more muscular build. He had dark hair and dark eyes, and his smile didn't really reach them. He wore dark jeans and a crisp, white button down shirt, and his hair was clipped close to his scalp, though he had a deliberately un-manicured beard. He held his hand out for Spencer to shake.

"You must be _Dr. Reid_. Stella used to talk about you all the time."

"It's nice to meet you," Spencer managed to force out through gritted teeth.

"Thanks for bringing my baby home. I was supposed to be covering a lecture but they cancelled on me last minute. I figured she'd already figured out how to make it home by now, so why bother." He was being extremely cavalier on purpose.

"You want a cup of coffee, Josh?" Lou asked. He didn't answer her. Instead he kept his gaze trained on Spencer.

"Thanks man. I can take it from here." _Get out of my house._

"Like I said, it's… nice to meet you." Spencer turned to face Lou. "Call me if you need anything," he told her, trying to put enough emphasis on the last word without being blatant about it. He turned and left the apartment with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 


	3. Catalyst

Four weeks went by without another word from Lou. Spencer had to keep himself from driving by her apartment periodically – like he would notice anything was wrong from the home's exterior.

The temperature kept climbing and he found himself staying in his apartment most of the daylight hours. The air conditioning in his Volvo was on its last legs and it made more sense to only venture out after the sun was down.

He was attempting to cook something resembling fried rice, when his phone began to buzz in his jeans pocket. It was Lou. He stared at the phone like it might bite him before making up his mind.

"Lou?" He asked cautiously.

"You feel like having company?"

"Yeah. I don't have any food here, or anything to do. Umm…"

"Shut up, Spencer. I'll see you in an hour."

Spencer moved around his apartment frantically, trying to erase all evidence of the botched meal, and remove the trash bags and piles of dirty clothing from view. By the time he sat down on the newly made couch to admire his work, there was a nock at the door.

"Hello," he greeted her breathlessly at the door. It took him several seconds to notice the overnight bag slung across her shoulder. "What's that?"

"Josh is out of town and I didn't feel like being alone in the apartment all weekend. I brought Harrison Ford with me," she flashed a smile as he moved aside to let her enter the room.

She carried in grocery bags filled with ingredients for spaghetti tonight and breakfast tomorrow. Everything was deposited on the bed or counter respectively and she began working on their dinner.

After dinner they got situated on the couch and began their movie marathon. An hour into their third movie, the digitally re-mastered _Empire Strikes Back_ , Spencer had made up his mind to ask her those questions that had been bothering him for the past six months. He was seated on the floor, leaning against the front rail of the futon and Lou was lying down behind him. He turned to face her. There were worry lines around her tight mouth and her eyes looked tired.

"Hey," he spoke softly to get her attention.

"What's up?"

"H-how long is Josh going to be out of town?" It wasn't the question he wanted to ask but he didn't really know how to begin.

"Why?"

"No. Never mind that." _Best to be clinical – just present her with the facts. Facts don't lie._ "How did he break your arm?"

"Spencer…"

"You don't have to lie to me. I've known – you know I have – for a long time. What happened?"

" _What_ do you know?" she whispered, as if Josh could hear her.

"I know it takes a lot of force to fracture both the radius and ulna at once, and if you needed a pin to set the bones, that's a pretty serious injury. I know you _are not_ clumsy. I know you lied about who you were living with when we first met, and I know you were ashamed to introduce me to your… your boyfriend. I know you're always unhappy to go home. You don't have a vehicle, you hardly ever have money, and he makes you dependant on him. I know you were terrified of him the first day we met. I could infer a lot more." She stared at him with a look halfway between pain and anger. "Or you could tell me."

She propped her self up on her elbow and began speaking. At first she wasn't looking at Spencer – she wasn't looking at anything. She talked slowly, her voice monotone and devoid of emotion. She started at the beginning.

They met at her college her freshman year. He was a TA. He was nine years older than her. She wanted to live away from the dorms and he loved her. It was the natural choice to move in with him. He hated hanging out with her friends – they were all so much younger. Soon she only saw them during classes. He used to let her use the car when he didn't need it, but that all changed when she met a friend for a study group in her old dorm one night. He was furious when she came home.

" _You ungrateful little bitch! Whose cock have you been sucking? That's the last time! The last fucking time!"_

He had taken her keys and made her sleep on the couch. When she would get dressed in the mornings he constantly nagged about her appearance.

" _I don't understand why you insist on looking like a whore."_

Mostly it was his words, but things changed last year. His father had died of cancer, leaving a small inheritance to Josh. For a few months life was quiet. There were arguments here and there – nothing big. Spencer grimaced when her heard her say that. Then, suddenly, it was like someone had flipped a switch. Lou started taking the bus to get around, to the grocery store and to the coffee shop. That was when the physical abuse began. She made dinner one night for them both and he had seemed so calm. She climbed into bed next to him. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back onto the floor.

" _That's where bitches sleep."_ At that point she was too shocked and terrified to say anything. She just curled up into a ball and held herself. She fell asleep on the floor, barely breathing, until she was woken by his kicks to her stomach. _"Who the fuck is he? Who are you fucking around with?"_ She professed her innocence, but he only screamed at her over and over again, _"Liar!"_

The next morning he was like another person – smiling and happy. He told her they would go out and have a good day together. That was the day she met Spencer. The fight they had been having in the parking lot involved him accusing her of being with him only because of his father's money. She was a gold digging slut who wouldn't even have a place to live if not for him.

His moods continued to wax and wane over the next few months. She would endure some kind of beratement every time she came home from seeing Spencer, but he was the only bit of normalcy in her life. Finally, the night she hadn't made it home was Josh's breaking point. It was the first time he had left marks anywhere that they could be seen. Three weeks later, se threatened to tell someone. He grabbed her arm and twisted hard.

"What happened tonight?" he asked hesitantly.

"He took me to lunch at Sao Paulo's after my doctor's appointment," it was an expensive Brazilian restaurant in town. "He asked me to marry him."

"What?" Spencer couldn't help himself.

"When I didn't answer right away, he said I could have the weekend to think about it, took my keys and wallet from my purse, and left me there. I had enough money stashed in the bottom of my purse for cab fare to the apartment, and when I got there I was locked out and the car was gone."

"How did you get your clothes?"

"Landlady let me in. I told her I had locked my keys in the house. When I got inside I found my wallet on the counter but no keys. I packed a bag and walked to the bus stop and called you. I figure he'll be pretty pissed when he gets home and I'm not there, so I need to be somewhere he can't find me. I'm sorry I got you involved in this."

"Don't be. But I'm glad you finally told me everything I'm actually involved in." He tried to smile to let her know he wasn't angry, but she let out a long sigh that eventually turned into a sob.

He was sitting on the edge of the couch with her cradled in his arms for a long time.

"I feel so stupid!"

He didn't say anything. Honestly, he was wondering if there was anything that could be said to justify the decisions she'd made. Except, he wasn't Lou. He had no idea what motivated her to make those decisions, and difficult though his life may be, he had never been in her situation. So he kept his mouth shut and held her tighter.

"So… what's with the two names?"

"Lou is just a nickname."

"So it's Stella after all?"

"Well, not really. My Legal name is Stella Louise Cartwright. My dad used to call me Stella Luna, and by third grade I was just Lou. All my family, friends – they all call me Lou."

"But Josh calls you Stella," Spencer probed gently.

"Ugh," she sniffled into his shoulder. "I hate that. He said the nickname was childish – never mind it could be argued that Lou is short for my middle name."

They were quiet for several moments before they pulled away from each other. "I'm gonna take a shower and get changed." She stood up and headed to the bathroom, leaving Spencer to lower the futon and retrieve the pillows and blankets from the bottom of his closet. He was spreading the blanket out when Lou came out of the bathroom. She was wearing grey flannel shorts and a tank… and thick wool socks. He dropped the pillow onto the mattress and stared at her feet.

"My feet get cold."

"I imagine the socks remedy that," Spencer smiled. He began making a pallet of blankets on the other side of the room.

"You're not sleeping on the floor. And you are not sleeping in that chair again. Two people can fit on this mattress."

He looked over to her, sitting on his bed. "Lou…" He was positive this was a bad idea.

"Just until I fall asleep?" she whispered. He felt defeated, deflated, and helpless to say no. He began to realize how much her situation bothered him – how he was more concerned than he thought a concerned friend should be. Every reluctant step he took towards her tonight was a step he knew he shouldn't be taking. She lifted up the covers and slid into the bed, obviously waiting for him to occupy the space next to her.

He sat down on the edge of the mattress with his back to her. Her small hand found its way to his arm and she pulled lightly. Spencer sighed and lowered himself to the mattress, pulling the covers up around both of them.

Lou settled on facing him, with her head tucked underneath his chin. She pulled his arm around her and he relaxed into the feel of her next to him, letting his guard down and simply enjoying the peacefulness of the moment. Her hair smelled like nagchampa and cinnamon. He tried to let his thoughts drift and focused on her breathing until it deepened and steadied. When he was fairly certain she was sleeping, he pulled his arm away from her waist, preparing to return to his pallet on the floor. He felt her grab his hand and he pulled his head back so that he could see her face.

Her eyes were open and large, taking in all of him. "Don't," she almost pleaded.

"What am I doing here?" It was rhetorical, and he certainly wasn't expecting her to answer him.

Her answer came in the form of a kiss.

Spencer was so caught by surprise he wasn't able to move. His body began to go numb. Lou still had his hand in hers and she placed it over her hip and scooted closer, successfully closing the gap between them. Her body felt so warm and solid against him, and he felt his fingers sinking into the skin above her waistband. She made a soft noise against his mouth causing him to open it in response.

All of the sudden, everything that had been propelling him faster and faster toward what he had been sure was a bad decision slowed down as her tongue darted lightly between his lips. Time was moot to him now and the only thing that existed was sensation – the sensation of her hair now tangled in his fingers, her tiny nose brushing his cheek, her breath on his face, and her hands wrapped around his neck. He let her lead him and they went on at that pace for a while before they needed to slow things down further. She began kissing him lightly with only lips and breath, and he took his cue from her, floating in the sensation of the softness after such urgency.

 


	4. Know By Now

Spencer opened his eyes when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. Lou's face looked peaceful, inches from his, and he realized they must have fallen asleep sometime during those soft kisses. He looked at his phone – six-thirty in the morning and a missed call. He flipped the phone closed and scooted out of bed as quietly as he could. He was still dressed in his t-shirt and jeans from the day before. There was coffee to be made and he hadn't taken a shower the night before so he began his morning routine. He took the shortest shower of his life pulling on jeans and an old shirt Lou had made him buy last year before Christmas that said 'Not a Real Doctor'. Once his coffee was poured he opened his phone again to see who had called him so early.

The last time he had seen that number was last December. It belonged to Josh. He glanced at Lou, still sleeping soundly, and stepped out into the front courtyard with his phone and coffee in hand. Before he had a chance to make up his mind about calling back, his phone began buzzing again.

"Hello?" he answered cautiously.

"Spencer. Hey buddy. This is Joshua Callahan."

"Josh."

"Hey, Stella gave me your number a while back." _I highly doubt that,_ Spencer thought. "I'm sorry to call so goddamn early, man. Stella's phone is off and I just want to make sure she's ok. You heard from her?"

"Why? Where are you?"

"I'm supposed to be in San Francisco for the weekend, Spencer. Obviously I'm about to cut my trip short. If you could help a guy out and just tell me if you know where she is, I'd appreciate it."

"Why would I know where she is? I mean, why wouldn't she be at home? Isn't everything alright?" There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds before Spencer heard a long, strained sigh.

"I figured you already knew. Stella is pretty unstable. I mean clinically. She makes up stories. Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night screaming at me not to touch her. I say, 'Baby, it's just me. I'm not hurting you,' but it takes me hours sometimes to get her to believe it's just one of her delusions. I mean, the things she's probably told you are no more real than Hansel and Gretel in the woods."

"Wow," Spencer said flatly. "I never knew she had delusions. She seems extremely lucid to me."

"Well, don't let her fool you buddy. She's broken a lot of hearts that way. Just… you can see why I'm worried about her. So give me a call if you hear anything. I wouldn't want her to do something she'll regret." The last part was clearly meant as a threat, each word holding more and more malice.

"Yeah." Spencer left his response at that and closed the phone. Whether Josh wanted to end it or not, their conversation was over. He sat on the hood of his car drinking his coffee and thinking until the temperature began to climb uncomfortably.

He walked back into the apartment quietly, his eyes adjusting to the dark. They itched, and he realized he had forgotten to remove his contacts last night. Lou was still sleeping and he retrieved his glasses from his desk drawer and headed into the bathroom. As he removed his contacts and placed them in the lens solution, he thought back to the small house he had shared with his mother before she had gone into the hospital.

_"Well I don't see why it's such an awful thing to wear your glasses, dear."_

_Spencer stood in front of the mirror, his left eye red and streaming with saline._

_"I think they make you look distinguished," Diana smiled at him from her seat on the edge of the bathtub._

_"They make me look twelve, Mom." He leaned forward ready to try placing the lens a fourth time. His right eye was starting to clear up and it had only taken fifteen minutes._

_"Are you trying to impress a girl?"_

_"No," he answered flatly. None of the girls would notice him anyway. He was a sixteen year old walking around the Cal Tech campus with a crowd of graduate students. The goal was to_ not _attract attention. The younger he looked, the more attention, the more out of place he felt... the more homesick he let himself get. That was the problem. He was convinced his mother was doing well on her own - he wasn't going to upset her routine by coming home more than was necessary._

_That illusion hadn't lasted much longer._

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and walked back out into the living room.

A few hours later, Spencer was trying to log in to his student e-mail account when Lou began to stir. He shoved his chair back from his desk and turned to watch her. She turned towards him, her eyes still closed, reaching both of her arms above her head and stretching all the way down to her toes. It reminded Spencer of the apartment's 'stray' cat stretching out after a nap in the warm sun. "Good morning," she said, stifling a yawn. She opened her eyes and smiled.

The prospect of discussing last night and the phone call he had received this morning, quickly wiped the smile from his face. He hoped Lou wouldn't notice and take the action as a sign of regret.

"Hungry?" she asked, somewhat subdued.

"I don't know?" he watched her stand and maneuver her way into the kitchen. "I could eat if you want to cook. There's coffee... probably cold," he heard her pour out the remnants and prepare to make a new pot.

He frowned at her abrupt silence, then turned back to the computer monitor. "Damn," he cursed under his breath for the fifth time this morning.

"What's the matter?"

"It's nothing. I'm trying to log in to my student account... My Thesis Advisor – I can only ever get messages to him through email."

"I thought it was done," she said, stepping out from the kitchen.

"What?" He looked up at her wiping her hands on a kitchen rag. "Oh, the thesis! Yes, but I just want to meet with him one more time before deadline."

"Spencer, you know more on the subject than half the department combined - and they've probably forgotten some, which is a disadvantage you don't have to worry about." she leaned across him to better access the keyboard. ".edu? Remember that your password is case sensitive."

"I think I'd remember that..."

"I also would have thought you'd remember to turn off caps lock," she smiled and headed back to the kitchen.

He pecked his password in the field again. "Thank you," he mumbled. By the time Spencer was done sending the proposed meeting time to his advisor, breakfast was ready. Fried eggs over medium, fresh cut cantaloupe wedges, toast and fresh coffee.

"Wow, what's the occasion?" He regretted asking the question almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

"It's not an occasion, Spencer. It's breakfast. Don't you eat breakfast?"

"Do pop tarts count?"

"Eh," she shook her head. "Sometimes you look younger than you act and others you act younger than you look."

"How old are you?" He suddenly realized that she had never told him her age or birth date. He knew it was in March, though.

"I'm surprised I got away with hiding it this long... I was twenty-two on March third. I'm scandalously older than you."

"Only eighteen months." As soon as he said it he could feel her eyes on him like a judgment – something he'd never felt around her before. Just then his phone rang. "That's my mom," he told her as he flipped the phone open.

 _Shower_ , she mouthed as he greeted his mother. He nodded at her and watched her stand and take her dishes to the kitchen counter, then fish clothing out of a bag and head into the bathroom.

"Spencer?"

"Sorry, Mom."

"Is that girl there, Spencer?" He had begun writing about Lou in his daily letters to Diana a few weeks after he had last seen her in December. It was clearly agitating his mom so he quit mentioning her around February, but Diana still asked every once in a while – _At first I thought she was a stupid, mean girl, Spencer. But I see now she must be in trouble. Has she called you yet?_

"Um…" He wasn't sure he wanted to leave room for any implication in front of his mother.

"She was in trouble, wasn't she? A mother knows."

After a shortened conversation with Diana, he decided he needed to get out of the apartment. The water was off in the bathroom and he moved near the door, fist hovering ready to knock, when it opened to a teary-eyed Lou.

"Whoa. What happened?" Spencer instinctively reached for her, but she pulled back and maneuvered around him to sit unceremoniously in his desk chair.

"I just checked my messages." She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. "He said… uh, it doesn't matter what he said. It doesn't matter." She was near regaining her composure now. "What were you doing at the door?"

"I was going to see if you wanted to get out. I'm feeling… I could use some coffee… some Etch coffee. I wanted to see if you would come? I've got the meeting with my thesis advisor later, but you could hang out at the coffee shop or in one of the campus libraries till I'm done. Would you… do you want to come?"

"I think I'd like to hang out here. Get some rest, you know."

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked quietly.

"No."

"Please?"

"Go, Spencer. I'm a big girl," she forced a smile. "I'll keep the door locked."

Four hours later, Spencer was back at Etch. He had met with his advisor and the conversation had been short – if not rushed on the part of the professor – so he had returned to the coffee shop, not ready to be back at his small apartment with Lou. His phone had been turned off for the past two and a half hours. After the first five calls, his jaw hurt from the clenching and grinding and he could no longer stand the phone buzzing in his pocket, and off it went. He sat cross-legged in the back sofa at the coffee shop, several books in his lap, starring up at the dimly lit ceiling. The book that lay open in his hands was titled _Without Conscience: The Disturbing World of Psychopaths Among Us_. He had already read _The Gift of Fear_ and _Reading People: How to Understand People and Predict Their Behavior_. It had only taken him a few minutes to make his selections at the campus bookstore, and although he felt odd standing in front of the female clerk ringing up his purchases, he hadn't been able to shake the uneasy feeling that had been nagging at him since he'd turned his phone off.

He reached into his jeans pocket and fished the phone out, now needing to hear the multiple messages that no doubt filled his voicemail box.

"Spence, this is Joshua Callahan. I need to get in touch with Stella. I'd appreciate the help, buddy."

Next.

"Spence, man. If you were any kind of a friend you'd be worried about her too. I just need to talk to her. You help me find her. It's the right thing to do. Call me back."

…

"Spencer. Call me."

…

"Tell Stella to get her ass home. Now!"

…

"I know you have her hidden away. You think fucking someone else's woman makes you a _man_ , you little piece of shit? You won't get away with this!"

…

"I know you two have been plotting against me for months you little snot. But she's just using you. That's all she's ever been good at. She uses and manipulates. She'll use you and throw you away. You stupid bastard."

…

"You need to tell Stella I'm very worried about her. I love her and I'm willing to forgive her for everything she's done to me. You tell her that. Tell her that, kid. She'll call me. She'll come home."

…

"Last chance, Dr. Reid. Last chance. You won't like meeting up with me after this."

Eight messages and thirteen missed calls in all. It was safe to say Joshua Callahan was exhibiting dangerously obsessive behavior with, Spencer would venture to say, bipolar tendencies. He flipped his phone closed. He had been harassed. He had been threatened. But no significant harm had been done to him. He could go to the police and what would they tell him? Nothing had happened yet. He could take the tapes to the Dean of the art school where Callahan was a TA. That might get some results. Or it might just piss him off even more. Either way he had to talk to Lou. Things would be much easier if he could convince her to press charges for the physical abuse – though from what he'd seen of her last night, any remaining bruises were old and fading, and would do little in the way of physical evidence to back up her claims. He had to try anyway.

He sat forward and shoveled the small pile of books into his book bag, paid his tab at the coffee bar, and headed down the street toward his car. It was getting late in the evening, and in summer, the student populous that normally filled the streets near Etch had dwindled. The street in front of him was nearly deserted but for a few kids sitting on the curb, passing around a joint, and a man heading towards him and the coffee shop, still a few yards ahead. He stopped a few steps past the stoners, something nagging at his subconscious.

"Want a hit?" a young girl asked in a slurred dreamy sort of speech, holding the hand rolled 'cigarette' out to him.

"…No."

Just then he realized what had been nagging at him and sent a few chills down his spine, straight into the tips of his chucks. The man walking towards him and the coffee shop was none other than Joshua Callahan. He picked up his feet and continued moving forward, trying his best to appear un-phased. Josh was wearing a plain black t-shirt, jeans, cowboy boots and a cruel grin.

"Doctor. Spencer. Reid."

Spencer forced a small smile. "Hey, man. I, uh… Sorry I didn't answer you there this afternoon. I was meeting with my Thesis Advisor. In fact I think my phone's still off. So what are you, uh, doing out this way?" He reached his hand out as he approached the older man and Josh took it willingly. Holding it in a firm, even painful grip he pulled Spencer closer.

"Where is she?" he whispered vehemently.

"Let go, man." Spencer croaked, cursing his voice for betraying him. They were standing beside his car now and Spencer reached into his pocket with his free hand, grasping for his keys.

Josh squeezed harder until he heard a faint sound of discomfort from Spencer, before obliging his earlier request and letting him go. Then he circled, forcing Spencer away from his car door, his back now facing the street.

"I said you wouldn't like meeting me again."

Spencer stepped wide to his right, trying to reach around for his door handle, but Josh sidestepped and blocked his attempt.

"Come on, man," Spencer half whispered, half croaked. He was getting really angry now, and more than a little bit scared. He could hear the kids still on the curb behind him, making commentary on the obvious altercation taking place.

"I'm not leaving until you Tell. Me. Where. She. Is." He was forceful but not loud enough to draw more attention than he already garnered from their small audience.

"Get out of my way, asshole." It felt good to say it, but words didn't mean much – sticks and stones, etcetera. So to emphasize his point, Spencer stepped forward towards his car door and placed his left hand on Josh's left shoulder attempting to clear his path. The next second a hot light exploded around his left eye and his head slammed into the blacktop pavement of the street behind him. His vision remained white for a few seconds as he heard hurried footfalls approaching.

"Have it your way," the monster growled from the darkness above him before walking back the direction from which he had come.

 


	5. Blindsided

After he had cleaned up in the mens room at Etch, and had another cup of coffee to steady himself, he headed back to the apartment.

"Hey. It's late," Lou mumbled as he tried to stealthily enter the studio. "Are you… Oh, my God. Spencer! What happened?"

"Some guy at the coffee shop asked me a question and I guess he didn't like my answer." He smirked weakly as he shuffled inside and sat his bag down in his desk chair.

"What? You're shitting me."

"No. It brought back quite a few memories from high school actually."

"What do you mean?" She was up from the bed and heading for the ice pack in the freezer.

"I graduated from a Las Vegas public high school when I was twelve years old, Lou. You do the math. I wasn't the kind of kid you hung out with. I was the kind of kid you beat up." She returned with the ice pack and he finally focused on her in the light of the darkened living room. She was wearing his faded grey CalTech Engineering t-shirt, and from what he was willing to glance at, a very small pair of cotton panties.

"Lie back and hold this there," she said, placing the very cold pack over his blackened eye. He did as he was told and she moved down the bed toward his feet, unlacing his chucks and pulling them off to land on the floor with a faint thud. _Thud. Thud._ Then his socks joined the pile. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, even with the ice pack resting on his face, as she moved back up the length of the bed and rested her hand on his belt buckle.

"Lou…"

"Mm hmm," she answered.

"You're wearing my t-shirt." It was all he could think of to say at the moment. He knew he should have a better argument prepared, but it was fading from his mind with every passing second.

"It looked comfortable." She began guiding the leather out of the metal clasp and pulling the two ends apart. Next was the button, then the zipper, and his pants hung loosely open around his angular hips.

"Lou…" He discarded the ice pack and sat up on the bed next to her. "We need to talk about last night." He reached for both of her hands, meaning to keep them from disrobing him further.

"You didn't like it?"

"No, I did! I just think…"

"Don't think about this one, Spencer." She reached up to his face, her fingers tracing the line of his cheekbone under the puffy skin. "Does it hurt?" She then let her fingertips trail down his cheek, bringing them to rest on his lips… taking his breath away.

"No. It… not much," he whispered when he was certain he could speak again. She replaced her fingers with her lips, gently parting his as they sunk back to the mattress together. They were kissing again at a rate he couldn't identify – fast or slow, he would never be sure – and her hands began guiding his up and down the length of her body.

She deepened their kiss and suddenly he realized she was guiding his hand beneath those cotton panties and between her legs. He pulled his lips away from hers and gasped, as if suddenly remembering his need for air.

But she didn't stop. She moved his hand back and forth a few times beneath the damp fabric before removing her hand and using it to work his still loosened jeans off of his hips.

"Lou…" He reclaimed his hand and looked up at her hovering over him. She was pulling the legs of his jeans over each foot leaving him clad only in boxers and t-shirt. Her hair lightly veiled her face and he couldn't take his eyes off of her in that moment. He reached forward and pulled her face close to his.

"What do we do now?" he whispered.

"We do what feels good."

And without another word he found the hem of her shirt – his shirt – and guided it up and over her head, tossing it to the floor. _Do what feels good._ It felt so right. Why did it sound so wrong?

….

Spencer was beginning to learn that there were many, _many_ levels of discomfort that he had yet to experience. The anxiety of lying next to this girl, wondering what to say, what would be said, had been nagging at him for the past hour. Lou was cocooned in blankets, naked and quietly snoring. He had extricated himself and retrieved his boxers and t-shirt from the floor and now felt a bit more confident. He sat at his desk for a while, watching her sleeping before his head began to hurt. He realized he's been without glasses and contacts for a good twelve hours now. Standing and heading for the bathroom, he stretched, and noticed most of his muscles still had the shaky, liquid quality that came after sex.

Entering the bathroom and turning on the light, he grimaced at the mirror. He hadn't been kidding when he told Lou about the beatings he had withstood in public school, but this was pretty bad. He couldn't remember ever having a black eye this severe. Mostly bloody noses, bruised ribs, or generally public humiliation had been the choice of his abusers. But he hadn't dealt with that in years. He decided it would be near torture to attempt the contacts, and searched out his glasses instead.

With one last look in the mirror he had made up his mind. The voice messages and the black eye would have to be proof enough. He got dressed and grabbed his book bag, cellular and keys off of the desk. He was heading to the Pasadena Police Station.

….

"I have to be honest with you son, this isn't going to be high priority. It sounds like a personal dispute to me. Why didn't you call the police last night?"

"He left. I… I didn't…" Spencer trailed off, feeling inferior sitting across the desk from the forty-ish officer looking at him skeptically.

"Look. You're friends with this girl; her boyfriend doesn't like you; you end up with a black eye. Worse has happened. It actually seems pretty tame to me. You can file a complaint. If he continues the threats, or becomes physical again, report it. Report it _when it happens_ , kid."

"What about Lou?"

"Is she willing to report the abuse? Press charges?"

Spencer was silent.

"My hands are tied 'till I see her here, filing a report."

His luck was a little better at the Art College. The Dean was already on the verge of firing Callahan. There had been several reports of harassment from the female staff and he was increasingly absent for scheduled lectures and to administer tests. He hadn't heard from Joshua in two days, though no vacation had been scheduled. The voice messages and Spencer's black eye were just the cherry on top. When Josh returned to work after the weekend, he would be escorted off campus by security. That was at least somewhat satisfying.

Tired after a frustrating morning dealing with different administrative offices, Spencer decided to stop over at Etch for a coffee and a peanut butter cookie. His nerves vibrated slightly as he pulled into his parking space from last night, his body remembering his impact with the pavement. The clerk at the counter gasped as he walked into the coffee bar.

"Oh my god, Reid! Sam told me about last night. Are you ok?"

"I've survived worse," he grimaced, wondering just how accurate that statement was. He couldn't exactly remember every beating he'd taken since high school. "Can I get a large drip coffee and a half dozen peanut butter cookies?"

"Sure thing, Sir. Grab a seat."

Spencer did as instructed, opting to tuck himself into an arm chair near the back, out of view of the street, still nervous about running into Josh again.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting his thoughts wander to last night. Spencer hadn't been a virgin, but he wouldn't have described himself as being experienced either. He'd done his best to blend in with the teenagers in the area after moving to cal tech for graduate school - he just never seemed to fit in with any one group for very long. None of his experiences (not that there had been many) were very intimate, let alone romantic. But last night... Last night had been something else entirely. Last night had been all that the romantic writers and poets had described. At least it had been for him.

He stood when Ashley, the barista, brought him his coffee and walked to the condiment station to add his sugar. As he did so, he couldn't help wondering if Lou felt the same way. He knew well enough from everything he had read of narcissistic personality disorder that nearly everything Josh had said to him - whether about himself or Lou - was either exaggeration or total fabrication. Still, he couldn't help remembering Josh's warning, _"She's just using you"_.

Feeling guilty for even considering the possibility, he gathered up his coffee and cookies and headed back to his car, and home to the girl he hoped was still waiting for him.

"Lou?"

The apartment door was unlocked when he got there, causing anxiety to rise up in his throat. He called out to her again… no response. The lights were off and he quickly sat his bag down and flipped the switch, illuminating the room. His bed was made into the futon couch, blankets folded; the kitchen was spotless, the dished put away. The entire apartment had been erased of all signs of her. A chill ran down his spine as he remembered the state of Lou's apartment months ago, now nearly mirrored in his own.

He slouched down at his desk, running his hands through his hair – it was really getting long now – and shutting his eyes in disbelief. This was all his fault. He'd gotten too close to her. He knew it was wrong – the worst idea…

As he opened his eyes, he glanced down at his desk. There, in her neat handwriting, was a short note. He picked it up and read it over again, understanding the words but not fully comprehending.

_Spencer,_

_I'm heading out this morning and I'm going to talk to my Dad. I'll probably talk to Josh, too. I need to get a few things straight. I'll call when I can, but I don't think it's a good idea for us to stay together. Sorry I left the door unlocked._

_Lou_

Lou had never mentioned her family, except in the vaguest references and the one story she'd given him about her name. He didn't even know where they lived. His first instinct was to call her. Something wasn't right. He held his cellular in one hand, and her note in the other. "'I'll call when I can, but I don't think it's a good idea for us to stay together'?" Convinced there was more to that one sentence, he set the phone down on the desktop. He would wait till she called _him_. It was obviously what she wanted.

So he waited. And waited.

And she didn't call.

But what was disturbing was the fact that Josh's harassing calls stopped immediately. Everything Spencer had read told him the harassment would most likely escalate, if not only due to the consequences of the report made to his employer, the fact that he had failed to get what he wanted – to get Lou back. It left Spencer feeling uneasy. He didn't like it.

 


	6. Ain't No Reason

"Hey, I was hoping I would get to talk to you. Just don't worry, Spencer. I'm ok. Really, this time. I hope you'll talk to me again. Ok. I'll try calling you later."

Spencer flipped his phone closed and slipped it back into his pocket as he filed into the lecture hall and past the handwritten sign advertising the speakers for this afternoon's recruitment seminar. It had been months since he had seen Lou and now his birthday was coming up again. But he didn't want to think about that either. He took a seat towards the back and slouched down crossing his legs and shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Once upon a time, there was a traveler on horseback who found himself facing a swamp. He didn't know whether to go around or try to wade through. The traveler asked a local boy, 'Tell me, local boy, does the swamp have a hard bottom?' And the boy told him that it did. So the traveler guided his horse into the swamp and they begin to sink deeper and deeper into the muck. He shouted to the boy, 'I thought you said it had a hard bottom!' And the boy said, 'It does, Mr. Traveler. You're just not there yet.'"

Spencer knew the fable. It had been in a collection of fables he had read as a child. The wording was different, but it was the same basic folktale.

"Later on, I'm going to tell you all what that means. Hopefully, through the process of answering your questions, you'll help me to illustrate it for you. My name is S.S.A. Jason Gideon and this is my colleague, S.S.A. Derek Morgan."

Spencer let the lecture take his mind off of the strange voicemail he'd received that morning. The FBI agents talked longer than the allotted time and he was disappointed when the younger man stopped his counterpart speaking.

"Gideon, they're playing us off, man."

"Like we said, there's nothing keeping each and every one of you from applying to the academy," Agent Gideon called as the students began filing out of the lecture hall.

Spencer watched them pack up their materials and shake a few hands while he gathered up his books, coffee and messenger bag, then made his way down the steps toward the front of the auditorium. The two men were turned with their backs to the room, speaking easily with each other.

"You know we're flying out commercial, Gideon. Now we'll probably have to take standby."

"You know I always preferred trains…"

"Excuse me?" Spencer interrupted hesitantly, and the two Agents turned to face him. "Mr. – uh, Agents?"

"Gideon," the older man touched his chest then motioned to the younger man. "And Morgan. And you are?"

"I'm Spencer… um, Spencer Reid. The fable you spoke about at the beginning of the lecture…"

"It means there's…"

"Yeah, there's always a solid bottom. I've read Thoreau. He quotes the fable in _On Walden Pond_. The question I had was, ah, how does that relate to what you do?"

"What does Thoreau say exactly, Mr. Reid?" Agent Gideon asked.

"'There is a solid bottom everywhere. We read that the traveler asked the boy if the swamp before him had a hard bottom. The boy replied that it had. But presently the traveler's horse sank in up to the girths, and he observed to the boy, "I thought you said that this bog had a hard bottom." "So it has," answered the latter, "but you have not got half way to it yet." So it is with the bogs and quick sands of society; but he is an old boy that knows it. Only what is thought, said, or done at a certain rare coincidence is good. I would not be one of those who will foolishly drive a nail into mere lath and plastering; such a deed would keep me awake nights. Give me a hammer, and let me feel for the furring. Do not depend on the putty. Drive a nail home and clinch it so faithfully that you can wake up in the night and think of your work with satisfaction…"

"You remember all of that off the top of your head, kid?" Agent Morgan looked shocked.

"Yeah."

"The point I was going to make, Mr. Reid, is that we are the furring, and we are the nail. There is a solid bottom everywhere." He gave Spencer an almost knowing smile and handed him his card, before he turned again to the younger man, Agent Morgan, and they headed out the back door.

"Gideon? You were going to tell those kids _that_?"

" _I was gonna_ use layman's terms."

….

"Did you get your part of the interview summary to Hotch yet?" Spencer asked as Emily crossed the bullpen with a remote in hand.

"On it's way. Have you seen this, guys?"

"I have to add something before it goes in," he continued, dismissing her question.

"It's on my desk." She stopped in front of the flat screen at the end of the bullpen and turned the volume up on the news station.

"... And has been implicated in the disappearance of at least one more."

The attractive brunette newscaster was replaced by footage of a man being escorted out of one of U.C. Berkley's administrative buildings by police officers.

"Physical evidence linking professor Callahan to the disappearance and murder of Berkley sophomore, Jennifer Laura Rochford, gave police detectives cause to arrest the professor after six weeks of frantic investigation. Rochford's body was found three weeks after her disappearance from the campus on June twenty-first of this year."

"What was the story there?" Morgan asked.

"She was finished with her spring semester and her friends thought she was going home. Her parents thought she was attending a 'mimi-mester' over the summer and didn't expect her home for another six weeks. When they couldn't contact her for over a week, they reported her missing to the local police." Spencer's eyes were now glued to the screen. The camera was shaky and far away from the subject but he could swear he recognized the man on the screen

The ticker scrolling across the bottom read: _'Berkley professor Joshua Callahan being questioned in connection with the murder of missing student. Also suspect in the disappearance of missing twenty-two year old woman in Pasadena, CA 2003.'_

"Conference room in five, guys," Hotchner announced from the door of his office, cell phone held to his ear.

"We heading to Berkley, Hotch?" Morgan asked.

"Minnesota," Hotchner said and retreated back into his office, speaking to whoever was on the other end of the line.

"I bet you money, there's more than just those two girls," Morgan said, turning to Emily. They headed towards the conference room, Prentice turning back a few seconds later.

"Reid, you coming?"

He stood, silently staring at the picture on the television of a young blond woman, with tortoise shell glasses and a wide, bright smile, the words _'Stella Louise Cartwright. Missing since January 8, 2003'_ in bold letters beneath the portrait.


End file.
